


the poem her belly marched through me

by scrapbullet



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Durincest, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, Pre-Quest, where Dis is pregnant with Kili and Thorin is the father, yes I went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're a good Uncle," Dis murmurs. Thorin grunts. "No, truly, you are. Our child will be... so very well-cared for."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the poem her belly marched through me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poemwithnorhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/gifts).



Thorin is possessive; it is a trait of their race that is damning in the eyes of others, and yet, Dis cares little for their opinion. Here, with her belly faintly swollen with child, she ponders only on the steps that have taken them to this place, this very moment, her palm pressing gently against flesh stretched thin by the being that is housed within.

Her husband has not visited her bed for many weeks, not truly. Thorin's plot to implant the suggestion of a drunken tryst between husband and wife had proven successful and so Dis had breathed a sigh of utter relief, safe in the knowledge that their secret remains thus; a secret, and that is all.

For the babe that resides in her womb is purely of the Line of Durin, and a bastard. A child conceived out of wedlock, and the father- 

"Dwalin tells me that Fili is a master at swordplay," Thorin states as he strides into his chambers, unsurprised to find Dis propped up on his bed. "Though his footwork requires attention."

Dis lifts a brow, and Thorin, like all good men-folk with common sense, balks before regaining his footing. 

"It is a wooden sword," Thorin amends, and as his rough fingers cup her cheek Dis sighs, yielding to him like mithril yields to tools and heat. "You have a fine son, sister."

His thumb grazes her mouth. "He takes after his mother," Dis says.

Thorin hums. "This one will be just as fine." 

He kisses her, full of fire and hunger, his wide hands nudging her skirts aside to palm at her hips and the rising swell between. Hot and callous, they are, dragging over Dis' skin until they rouse the want inside her, back and forth, back and forth as Thorin leans over her, worshipping her body with as much passion as he is able.

"I've been neglecting you," 

and

"You have," clothes discarded, tossed aside, her nipples hard as they drag over his furred chest. "I would have you, all of you, without this Mahal-damned _secrecy_ -"

But they cannot.

When Thorin eases into her, Dis takes all of him. When his thrusts become wild with need, she cleaves to him, takes and gives in return, her nails scoring deep lines that bleed into his back. And when he deftly manipulates the slick core of her with his cock and his fingers, she flies apart, only to catch him when he too, falls, breathless and sweat-slick.

"You're a good Uncle," Dis murmurs. Thorin grunts. "No, truly, you are. Our child will be... so very well-cared for."

"Children."

"Hm?"

Thorin is reverent as he gazes upon her stomach. "Our children," he repeats, and that he has taken Fili as his own warms Dis, her heart thudding in her chest.

He rests his head upon her breast. The candles flicker out.


End file.
